


Under his Skin

by TwoDrunkenCelestials



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Body Horror, Eczema, Eyes just so many eyes, Gen, Skin picking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 13:53:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20908733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwoDrunkenCelestials/pseuds/TwoDrunkenCelestials
Summary: Jonathan Sims has had eczema since he was a child.





	Under his Skin

There is itching under his skin. There has been since he was young, of course, a life of eczema and nerves keeping away any of the proper satisfaction that comes with scratching. It's something Jon's learned to tune out, the scrap-scratch of nails or books or edges only doing just enough.

As an adult, he keeps his nails short, so he can't, so he resists the impulse to pick at his scars, and all the little marks given to him through the cruelty of other avatars. Jude Perry's had been the worst- even more terrible the worm scars, small puckered burrows that it was nearly impossible to resist- his urges initially making the scars worse, even with his healing factor.

That perhaps might be one of the only good things about this awful situation with the Eye. Jon heals so quick that he can chase that need to satisfy the _ itching _ and it won't leave him more scarred anymore.The only marks that last are the ones given by others and there's a strange relief in that.

The itching is back though. Worse than it's ever been, even at his most nervous, when he'd picked himself near raw in the days after Mr. Spider. 

He's in his office, alone. Jon is thankful for that when the urge hits him like a tidal wave. _Scratch. Itch. Pull away the _**_skin_**_._ **_Reveal_**.

It's so strong that his hand drifts down to do so, an unconscious reaction, a habit more deeply ingrained than any of his others. The back of his left hand calls him first, and that first pull is _ wonderful. _ His nails have gotten longer than he usually allows himself, but then again, he's been neglecting himself a lot lately.

Jon scratches again, harder this time, eyes drawn to the spot, something in him forcing him to watch. Blood seeps out, and while that's nothing unusual, the level of pleasure that fizzes through his system is. 

He keeps going, focused solely on that, on the strange flash of white he sees beneath the skin, and not on the curious hiss of the tape recorder. 

What he reveals with one final tearing makes him stop, catches his breath in his chest, and leaves him horrified, and something _ else _ in him strangely pleased.

It's an eye. 

He takes a moment to study it, the beautiful, strange haunting blue-green of the iris breathtaking as it is chilling. The eye twitches, too, looks around, and Jon realizes he can _ see _ out of it. The raw skin around it is healing now, forming proper tear ducts and a proper eyelid. It should be more chilling than it is. That alone should worry him. It doesn't.

Instead, his attention is drawn to the back of his other hand and he doesn't even try to resist the urge to scratch, seeking instead that pleasure and that eye he just _ knows _ is hiding under there, waiting to be revealed. He digs in harder this time, an intrepid archeologist impatient to reveal a treasure. 

It feels right, so right to be doing this, and the _ pain-pleasure- _ ** _seeing_ ** feedback loop only keeps him going, seeking more. 

His assistants find him later, clothes bloody, without the sign of an open wound. Instead, he looks sated, for the first time in a long while. He is shirtless, and the expanse of skin on his chest and arms and neck is covered with eyes of all colours. Many of them swivel to look at Basira and Daisy, each focused on a different woman. 

The smile Jon wears, and the intensity of his gaze feels heavier, creepier, more _ Beholding _ than before.

Daisy is the first to speak, quiet and bearing an edge of panic. "Jon, what _ happened _ to you?" 

"I had an itch that needed scratching." 

His voice sounds distant, and he's already picking at another bare patch, slow and steady, watching it with a soft rapturous joy. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me at my tumblr (same name) if you wanna talk about the Magnus Archives!


End file.
